Changing Room Politics
by Little Obsessions
Summary: Mrs Addams makes Pugsley's first soccer game a little more fun... very little plot, or indeed, none at all! rated M, so heed the warning. And above all, enjoy!


_Hey, none of this belongs to me. Not Lexus or the Addams Family. The latter belongs to the Tee and Charles Addams Foundation and Paramount Pictures. No infringement is intended._

_I do intend that you enjoy this…_

_=D_

His wife, from the back, was just as alluring as she was from the front. He stretched out slightly, feeling the length of his athletic body shudder in his fine clothing, which were wet from the rain.

"I hear you," he heard her whisper, in that frighteningly eloquent voice. He smiled slightly.

"You killed the element of surprise, Cara mia!" He laughed gently, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top few buttons.

"You think I am not a merry murderer," she eyed him over her shoulder, placing her book on the table and reclining back. It was a miserable day outside, and he could physically feel her radiating a sense of wantonly lust that accompanied indiscriminate rain and thunder in her. He smiled again and flexed his muscles, his olive coloured skin dripping with the fine rain water. He seen her smile slightly and turn away, as if she had did something very wrong in letting her tongue flick onto her red lips in her moment of weakness.

"How was town?" She refused to look at him, only irritating him more as she sat erect and poised, her fine back ram rod straight.

"Wet," he answered succinctly, "And dreadful."

"I was bored," she finally swivelled in her chair and smiled at him, "Amuse me."

"Shall I tell you a joke?" He placed his hands behind his back innocently and rocked back and forth on his patent shoes.

"That's not the kind of amusement I mean," she answered, biting her bottom lip, "But do you have one?""No," he shook his head, "Oddly enough, I don't.""Well," she clasped her hands together, sitting them gently in her lap as he came to stand before her, "What else can you do?""Dance," he tapped his feet slightly, "Fence, torture…""Torture?"

"Torture," he levered himself on the arm of her chair, and kneeled steadily on the old, rotting Axminster rug, "I can do torture."

She leaned forward, her lips torturously near his own, her chest heaving softly in anticipation; distracting him immensely. His eyes flickered downward, admiring what he so loved there. She noticed his attention had been stolen and raised his chin with her fingers to meet her face.

"You were saying?"

He swallowed slightly, "I was saying, I'm good at torture…I think… indeed, I'm quite distracted.""Yes," she whispered, "I think you are.""Perhaps," he kissed the corner of her mouth fleetingly, "you can help me regain my train of thought.""I don't think anything I could do for you now would help you," she sat back, and surveyed his hand creeping over her thigh.

"No?"

"No," she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Her mouth tasted like poison, sour and inebriating. He pulled back for a moment and stared into her black eyes.

"You taste good," he muttered and stood, leaning over her so she could not escape from him. He bent to kiss her collarbone, the spot behind her ear. She arched against him invitingly.

"No games," she muttered, standing up and pulling him to her.

"Alright," he sat down on the couch and patted his knee, "have a seat darling."

"Oui," she smiled, straddling his legs and taking his hands, guiding him to raise her dress over her thighs.

"This thing," he laughed, "Is too damn tight."

"Don't complain," she ordered softly, tearing gently at his shirt as she moved against him. He cried out in ecstasy.

"Good gir-"

"Mother?"

Morticia's head snapped up towards her son, and Gomez obliged her by pulling her dress as far as the ridiculous material would permit and allowing her to stand up before she could pay full attention to their son. Pugsley was so intent on the sheet of paper in his hand that he wasn't truly concentrating anyway.

"Darling?"

"Mother, can you sign this form?"

"Indeed," he watched her smooth out her fine dress, deciding he should light a cigar and wait things out. Try to clam down his body, which was evidently showing his passion. He wriggled in his seat and crossed his legs as his wife took the sheet from her son and he left the room.

But his relaxation was brought to an abrupt end when he read the horror etched on his wife's fine face and her sharp intake of breath.

"Cara Mia!" he stood abruptly, "Why what is wrong?"

She placed her fine hand over her mouth and closing her eyes, thrust the paper at him.

He scanned it with his eyes and understood immediately, "Soccer?""Yes," his wife muttered faintly, sitting down on the couch.

"Well," he stuttered, clenching the paper in a white fist, "That's just odd."

"Odd," she stared up at him, "It's positively worrying Gomez. Oh, what shall we do?"

"We must," he shook his head and then clenching his fist resolutely, "Support him."

"Well…" Morticia traced her fingers across her forehead, which was a sure sign of distress.

"Darling," he implored, "It's most probably a little faze.""A faze," she looked up at him, "I hope so.""Yes," he enthused, "merely a faze.""But soccer," she shook her head, "I just don't understand it.""Darling," Gomez shrugged, "When I was a child I did things that I regret. I mean, I was a Scout for a-""Don't!" Morticia held up a silencing hand, "Don't speak about that; I didn't know you then."

"Alright," he whispered consolingly, perching himself on the arm of the couch and touching her back kindly, "I wont. But darling, understand that it's merely a faze. Alright? I had fazes and they didn't last.""Alright," she smiled.

"Now where were we, darling?""I'm tired," she looked up at him with massive eyes, "I just wish to lie down."

He kissed her forehead gently, "Alright Cara."

*******

"I don't want to," Morticia muttered, "I hate the very idea."Gomez pulled a face, "So do I."

She looked at him significantly and continued to brush her hair.

"It's only soccer," he huffed, "And it's just a faze. This is his first game, we should support him."

She took a sip of arsenic from the glass on the dresser and glared slightly.

"It is not," she snapped uncharacteristically, turning her back on him, "Button my skirt?"

"I'm frustrated, Tish," he finally admitted as he finished buttoning the satin, "Three days."

She looked fantastic, having donned a tight skirt and black blouse that was alleged to have belonged to Eva Peron. Something she rarely wore but prised beyond belief. But it was warm outside and she hated the heat and sun and had dusted off her massive black picture hat. He found this outfit particularly unfair on a day where she refused him anything, because her long legs were visible and very much something he adored.

Even though she knew this, she was hardly likely to say to him. She felt a tiny pang of guilt.

He smiled slightly, attempting a joke "You've been lax in your wifely duties."

Her frown softened, "I'm just…vexed."

She chose her words carefully, and twisting her head slightly, kissed his fingers that rested on her shoulder.

"Get ready darling," she smiled at his reflection, "Please."

He huffed petulantly, "Ok."

Gomez had attended the elite school that his children did in his youth. He would have been a liar to say he had hated his school days, where he and his dearest friend Williamson would annually set fire to the building, and once blew up a toilet with a teacher locked inside. Of course, the Addams' had been amazing benefactors of the school and could never have been rejected on the grounds of mere behaviour.

"This is thoroughly dire," Morticia looked up at the grand, well kept building and the soccer field in the distance. Her ridiculously high, almost submissive heels were sinking into the green grass and her large hat only partially covered her face. She was, in a word miserable. She found the green of healthy grass offensive and loathed the sun which so many worshipped.

"This is thoroughly unpleasant," Wednesday was almost crying, "Can't I stay with Lurch at the car? Being at school on a Saturday…"

"Alright darling," Morticia conceded patiently, after hours of hearing the same request, "You may go back to the car and get Lurch and perhaps go for a wild drive. But be back for this ending, promptly, please."

"Yes! I promise."

Wednesday turned on her heels, and promptly returned to the Deusenberg in the distance. Morticia watched her go safely and then turned to her husband.

"Well, this is just fowl," she sighed.

"But we're here for Pugsley," Gomez consoled, feeling immense discomfort under his three piece suit already as they took their seat in the stands. He smoothed his hand over his limp hair, and thought only of cool damp darkness and stale water.

"I wish I had a hat like that," he laughed, removing his coat as the referee blew his whistle. He looked at her and smiled slightly, "At least it's not baseball."

Fifteen minutes into the game, the weather was so blisteringly hot that Gomez had removed his jacket, waistcoat and tie and had unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, so that she could see the olive colour of his collar bone and the vial of her blood he wore continuously around his neck.

"Warm darling?" Suddenly Morticia turned her eyes and idea on him, scanning his face. He was shocked to find her hand inappropriately on his thigh, her nails digging into the fine wool of his trousers, too near his groin to be innocent.

"Yes," he turned his eyes back to the game, where their son was belting with gusto toward his own goals, "That's my boy."

"Gomez?"

"Yes darling," he answered, eyes focused still on the game.

"Did you play sports at school?"

"Fencing," he answered, and then with a shudder, "And Core Physical Education."

She hissed slightly and stabbed her nails into his thigh; he twitched slightly and slid his eyes toward her. Her eyes were on the game but she smiled deliciously, aware of what she was doing.

"So you know where the legendary changing rooms are, old man?"

He laughed slightly and nodded, understanding where she was going but dreading it and anticipating it, in equal measure.

"Yes, my young girl."

She loved to mock the fact he was seven years older than her; that he had taken her innocence and indeed that he would go greyer quicker than she would.

"Have you ever made love in the changing rooms?"

He turned wide eyes on her, "I've only ever made love to you."

She moved closer to him, shading them both with her hat as she breathed, "You know what I mean."

"I do," he laughed, "And yes, I did."

"Would you like to relive your youth?" She stood up, swaying her hips as she descended the stairs, "Come on then."

It felt ridiculously dangerous and she knew she was more than making up for her self-imposed chastity in these last few days by making him feel sixteen again. In the corridor, which was eerily quiet and cool he pulled back, gripping her hand with intensity as he led the way in silence.

"You still remember?" She laughed, hooking her legs around his waist as he hoisted her up and pushed her against a door, with chipping paint that read 'Boys Changing Rooms'.

"Only at your behest," he laughed loudly.

"Be quiet," she demanded, slipping his suspenders over his shoulders and undoing his buttons with her sharp nails. She felt the silk of his boxers below her hands and smiled.

"I'm excited," he almost giggled.

"That does not mean you have to be so loud," she answered, straddling his waist as he sighed with previously dissatisfied lust. He moved her hips roughly, creating a moan in her mouth. She pulled back and stared at him with a wicked smile on her face, "Slowly Gomez, we still have about 70 minutes.""Oh good," he laughed, his hands wandering towards the buttons of her shirt. He smiled wondrously as her underwear was revealed in all its restrictive glory. She was keenly reminded of a child in an explosives cupboard.

"Corset?"

She nodded, reaching her hands around to unlace it. He gripped her wrists.

"Don't darling," he smiled as she moved against him, and he had almost forgotten they were indeed in that position, it felt immensely good, "I like it."

"It's warm," she dropped her lips to his own, her nails digging into his face. Her teeth nibbling on his lip as she freed him from his shirt, and devoured his chest with kisses.

"Move Tish," he implored, gripping her hips with his fingers. She watched the vain that she so loved to see throb in his neck as she moved and he rested his head against the grimy, graffiti covered wall in a moan of ecstasy.

"This," he curled his hands in her hair, pulling sharply, "Is quite amazing."

She could barely answer, her red lips parting, then closing again as he moved again. So painfully slowly that she couldn't bear to answer him.

"Gomez…I need you," she begged, "I don't think I'll last for seventy minutes."

"You have me," he kissed her again, perhaps more frantically than necessary, "But don't make me wait this long next time."

She followed him, her arm locked in his, her clothes reinstated to their former location after they had managed to find her garments. Gomez cared little for the 'no smoking' rule and had lit a necessary post coital cigar as they took their seats for a second time, to watch the remainder of the game.

"It would appear," she whispered, noting that her red lipstick was smeared between his ear and neck, "That the home team is losing miserably.""Indeed," he smiled, "Our son is quite amazing.""We wouldn't know," he continued absently.

She laughed lowly, "Let's keep that between ourselves."

"Alright dear," he answered, but over the din of the match finally ending, could only smile his answer.

The weather was still blisteringly hot while they waited with the other deliriously proud and altogether too-pastel parents of other members of the team. Wednesday had joined them again, excitedly informing them of how Lurch and herself had managed to knock down an entire deer and had propped it on the roof of the car. Morticia smiled with amusement as to how parents with Lexus and other such horrid vehicles might react. Her son emerged a few minutes later, his skin angry and red, and his large body heaving with exertion.

"What did you think?" He asked enthusiastically.

Gomez looked at his wife and then patted his son affectionately, "Indeed, it was fun."

"I thought so," Morticia answered languidly and clung to him. She had this gorgeous habit of feeling the need to hold onto him after making love. He wondered if it was the only time she was vulnerable.

"Well," Pugsley looked up, his eyes glittering with pride, "The coach dropped me. Says I can't score goals into my own team and that I'm not allowed to bite the other team members."

"He's obviously not aware of the nuances of sport," Gomez commented.

"But that is a shame," Morticia let her hand wander down, to land on his buttocks and squeeze gently, "It was rather too much fun."

"I guess it was," Pugsley shrugged, and looked from one to the other, "I must have missed you, I didn't see you in the stands.""We were there darling," Morticia assured, with the air of a brilliant liar, as she led her little family to the waiting car which groaned under the weight of a massive carcass.

"Alright," he smiled as Gomez handed him a celebratory cigar, "I must have not seen you."

"I guess not," Gomez laughed, smiling at her.

"I guess not," Pugsley repeated.

"I'm rather tired after all the exertion," Gomez laughed, "Perhaps Mamma can cook up something nice with the deer."

"I hope so," Morticia smiled at him as she placed a gentle kiss on her son's crown.

Hope you enjoyed it.

Xx


End file.
